


500 Words About Death Between Two People Who Aren't Friends

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Bishop and Phillip Broyles share a drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	500 Words About Death Between Two People Who Aren't Friends

The sound of the glasses touching together was dull in the dark room, the muted clank of cheap barware. It was a lifeless sound and bile rose in Peter's throat even as he tried to choke down the whiskey. He dropped his glass back to the glossy surface of the bar and waved the waitress over. Next to him, Broyles nodded at her when she lifted the bottle in a silent query.

Peter stared at the dim reflection of his face in the mirror behind the bar. He looked composed, calm even. He looked like he hadn't punched a wall hard enough to dent the drywall and slumped to the floor after Astrid had taken his father off his hands before fleeing to the closest bar to their hotel. He steadied his hand and lifted the glass to his mouth again. He looked at the reflection of the man sitting beside him, slumped towards his drink like it was all that was holding him up.

"She blackmailed me, you know."

Broyles shifted his eyes from where they were fixed on his drink towards Peter. He lifted his eyebrows in that disbelieving way he had when he was asked to approve funding for excessive amounts of gelatin or penguin food or something like that. He sipped his drink and waited.

Peter cleared his throat against the tightness that kept creeping into it, clenching around it like a fist. "To get me to leave Iraq with her. She blackmailed me with threats about letting people know where I was hiding. Said the FBI had secret a file on me."

Broyles tilted his head now, expressing sliding even deeper into disbelief.

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, I know. But I didn't know she didn't have anything. Hell, I don't even know how she found me." He considered his reflection again. "I can't believe she bluffed me."

The other man was watching him, Peter could see his reflection. "She had a lot riding on you."

Peter closed his eyes and took steadying breaths to keep from screaming. His voice was a scratchy, whispery thing. "I know."

"Bishop." Peter turned towards the man he supposed was now his former boss. "She has a living will…"

Peter nodded. "No life support. I know."

The look Broyles gave him made it clear he was struggling not to call the younger man an idiot. "Why are you _here_?"

Peter clenched his hand around his glass for a moment before forcing himself to relax his grip. His throat burned and he blinked against the tears, staring off into a dark corner of the room before looking back at his companion. He fished his wallet out of his pocket.

"Go." Broyles waved his hand. "I've got this."

Peter nodded and stood. He opened his mouth and tried to come up with words that made sense. Eventually he settled for meeting Broyles' eyes and nodding before he headed out of the bar, out to the hospital, to see things through to the end.


End file.
